


In The Shadow of the Moon

by zoemech



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Adventure, Dragons, High Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Prince Lance (Voltron), Romance, Soulmates, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemech/pseuds/zoemech
Summary: Lance is a prince, destined to one day rule the throne of a great kingdom. One fateful night, however, he leaves the kingdom and tries to find his way to the fabled Mountains of Starlight, a place of peace that his mother wrote of in her journals. If only the journey were easy, and he wasn't so inclined to stay with a boy in the forest.This isn't a good description but this story will have action, romance, sorrow, violence and love. There will be dark parts but also parts of happiness and light. I hope you give it a try.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	In The Shadow of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance for any mistakes and mess ups!

The early morning sun is bright on the sea, the waves crashing against an empty coastline. Clouds hover in the far distance, promising rain. Lance, who has only just awoken, can smell the water on the air; salty from the ocean, fresh from the sky. He groans and stretches, listening to the sounds of waking life.  
  
Each day he rises with as much hope as he can muster, wanting nothing more than to begin better than he did the day before. For, you see, prince’s are meant to be sharp and ambitious no matter the hour. He thinks of yesterday, with all of the chaos that rose from his impulsive decisions, and grimaces.  
  
 _Today will be better,_ he thinks.  
  
He repeats that to himself over and over, as he readies himself and gathers his things, as he says his greetings to servants and maids and generals throughout the halls. It’s simple, he reminds himself. Just do better. Be better. As long as he does that, what could possibly go wrong?  
  
His positivity plummets the moment he steps into the grand dining hall. The entire family is there, watching silently as he crosses the glossy stone floor. His steps seem too loud, his breathing too quick. His pulse flutters, a gulp caught in his throat. It’s difficult to look at anyone, even his youngest siblings, Micah and Lily. They chew on their bacon and bread slowly, eyes kept down.  
  
Humiliation; it can almost bring Lance to his knees.  
  
When he finally takes his seat, he winces at the scrape of the chair, at the way his father drums his fingers on the dark oak table. His hand is weathered and scarred, the older man having lived through two wars and the harshest winters.  
  
“Raise your head, boy.”  
  
Lance does so immediately, forcing himself to meet his father’s cold gaze. Once, long ago, his father hadn’t been quite like this. But time changes things.  
  
“Yes, father?” Lance damns his weak voice.  
  
The King’s jaw clenches, as though he could hardly bear to listen to Lance. He studies his son’s face, no doubt picking out all of the features of his mother and wishing they were wiped clean. Lance was always the closest in resemblance to the late queen, had always been the most gentle; the most synonymous with her ways.  
  
Now, his father loathes him for it.  
  
“You are to use your own balance to pay for repairs of the Eastern sea wall.” His father begins, grease sliding down his chin from the large bite he took of bacon. The pig was no doubt slaughtered this morning. “The rest of your day will be spent in training. No reading, no venturing with the cook’s son, no experiments or foolish trips to the city.”  
  
“Yes, father.”  
  
“If you so much as step out of line _once_ today, you will be severely punished.” He looks at him and Lance tries to find some sort of kindness in his eyes. He comes up short. The King continues, “You’re the oldest now, boy. You will take this throne from me when the day comes. I will not have you like you are now to rule this kingdom.”  
  
“Yes-”  
  
“Your brother would have done better.”  
  
The statement makes Lance freeze, his stomach rolling. Beside him, all of his siblings hold their breath. It is suddenly so quiet again that they can hear voices from outside of the huge doors of the dining hall, that every breath is almost too loud when released.  
  
It remains like this for the rest of the morning.

  
  
__________________________________

  
  


When Lance was small, he dreamed of dragons. Ocean serpents, beasts of the northern mountains, giant lizards crawling in the rolling dips of the deserts. He would paint them with the oils his mother gifted him and he would read about them constantly, refusing to believe that they had all gone extinct. That something so small as man could have wiped them out entirely.  
  
His mother, however, told him something the old texts did not.  
  
 _They still live, Lance._ She would whisper at night, tucking him in before blowing out the candle light. _We just haven’t found them yet._ _  
__  
__How do you know, Momma?_ He would ask, gripping his sheets in excitement. Her eyes would glow against the candle, seeming almost unreal as she looked down at him. Still, she would never answer that question.

Now, several hours after Lance paid for the Eastern sea wall, he huffs on the ground in exhaustion. His body is bruised and there is a cut on his brow, slicing the brown skin clean.  
  
“Up.” Commander Iverson barks. “You may be a prince but you fight like a stable boy.”  
  
Lance rolls his eyes but gets to his feet, wobbling only a moment from the harsh blow. His vision goes blurry before clearing completely, his blinks fast. They’ve been at this for a long while now, other trainees coming and going, their soldier uniforms rumpled. Usually, Lance can beat them easily. He was trained by his older brother, after all.  
  
Iverson, however, has always proven to be more difficult to beat. He’s older than Lance’s father and he’d trained the King himself, using any means necessary to whip him into shape.  
  
“Again.” Iverson growls.  
  
Lance backs away, studying his chances. The old man favors his right side, putting more weight on his foot. He winces when Lance makes him sidestep, an old wound no doubt the culprit of that weakness. Though, it could also be his left eye, the likes of which was cut out and taken from him long ago.  
  
 _The old wretch got captured by the Galra empire years ago._ His brother once told him, _They held him for two months, almost fed him to their vulture beasts._

That story had always haunted Lance.  
  
Now, he uses it to his advantage.  
  
He feigns going left, knowing the commander would expect him to attack at his weakest point. But Lance uses the momentum to swipe at his right, cutting the fabric of his trousers and nicking the skin beneath. The man startles and tries to butt Lance’s forehead with the hilt of his long-sword. Yet, Lance has learned from his mistakes today. He slides on the training sand and uses a booted foot to kick at Iverson’s leg, in the indent of his kneecap. It sends the man sprawling forward and Lance uses this as his final front, quickly getting to his feet, quickly sliding the blade against Iverson’s thick neck.  
  
He lets the blade press against his skin, “Am I done now?” Lance breathes, chest heaving.  
  
The commander grunts and disarms Lance easily, though it’s not like Lance put up much of a fight. He watches as the man gets to his feet and wipes at his brow, letting the smallest hint of a satisfied smile twitch at his lips.  
  
“I will tell your father of your progress.” He gives Lance a knowing look, one that reminds him that the old man isn’t all terrible sometimes. “He will be pleased to hear it, Your Highness.”  
  
Lance nods, just once, before replanting himself on the ground. The waves behind him crash in tune with his heart and he closes his eyes, limbs and muscles aching. He would have rather spent all of today reading by the sea, letting the warm sun bake against his dark skin. Hell, if he could, he would have dived in and swam with the fish. Instead, he falls back on the hot sand and breathes in deep, wishing he was small again. Day after day, he was allowed to roam this coast and collect all sorts of things: shells, seaglass, dried starfish and gull feathers. And there had been no screaming, no disdain for his wandering, only the bright smile of his mother when he spilled all of his treasures before her.  
  
He smiles at the memory, feeling the ghost of her hand in his as they walked along the shore.  
  
But when he opens his eyes, he knows that he can’t return to the past. He can’t bring his older brother back from the grave, he can’t save his mother before she fell.  
  
Angry at himself for thinking of it, he quickly gets to his feet and strides to his horse, jumping into the saddle and clicking his tongue for the huge beast to run. They take off and kick up golden sand, the wind blowing against his tears, drying them against his cheeks. He leans in and presses his thighs harder against the mare. She speeds up, the fastest in the kingdom and the most loyal, too.  
  
If nothing else, at least he has this. 

_________________________

When things go wrong, one can only wonder how it happened so quickly.  
  
Lance hadn’t truly meant to set the office ablaze, he didn’t even realize he’d let the candle fall onto the carpet. He was simply sitting on his mother’s floor, admiring her old books just as he’s always done since her death. It’s a calming thing, a tranquil, beautiful thing to be surrounded by her belongings. She was always a scholar, had always loved literature and art and history more than his father. Above him, painted on the ceiling, there is a star map. He would sometimes sneak in just before sunrise and stare at the way the paint glittered as if placed there by magic.  
  
Tonight, he was reading her notes on the Great War of Apalica, the epic having taken place millenia ago. He was so submersed he didn’t even smell the smoke at first. Only when the heat became too great at his back did he slam the book shut and rise, turning fast. His eyes had gone wide, a scream stuck in his throat. More than the vicious anger of his father, he feared for her belongings becoming lost.  
  
He was only able to save three things.  
  
“You fool!” His father screamed, red in the face, veins popping at his neck. He paces in front of Lance, the huge stone throne standing tall behind him.  
  
Lance keeps his eye on that. It’s all he can do to keep from falling to the ground in turmoil.  
  
“Do you know what you’ve done?” His father screams, “All of her is gone now! She is lost to me!” Lance winces, so ashamed he could crumble. “And you still hold her journal?”  
  
His father rips it from his hands and Lance lets out a heaving breath, body shaking. He should look his father in the eye, he should tell him that he is sorry. But to do so would mean opening his mouth and that is impossible.  
  
“You’re a disgrace! A failure! Your brother spoke of your intelligence, your mother of your wit! And yet you are too stupid to notice the flames!” His father strides foward, “Do you hear me, boy?”  
  
When Lance doesn’t answer, a palm is struck across his face. His head whips to the side, blood pooling in his mouth.  
  
He swallows it.  
  
His father slows his attack, chest and shoulders heaving, looking ravaged when Lance finally lifts his gaze from the floor. He glances at Lance’s red cheek, already noticing the swell. But he doesn’t apologize. He simply turns to fall onto his throne, his wife’s journal splayed on the floor between them. Lance picks it up but his father doesn’t scream anymore. He simply rests his face in his palms, graying hair falling across his forehead.  
  
“Get out.” He eventually says, quiet. All of the fight in him is gone. When Lance doesn’t move, he repeats himself. “Get out.”

Lance turns to go in a daze, not even noticing his siblings standing around the room. The smallest cry, those only a few years younger than Lance can’t even look at him. He reaches the entrance to the throne room and hears his father’s final words from afar, echoing.  
  
“It should have been you.” 

___________________________

The stables are dark and smell of hay and sweet apples and horse shit. Lance shoves food and those apples into a satchel, placing them on the side of his horse with his other belongings: two swords, a change of trousers, several pouches of water, loaves of bread. And, kept closest to himself, his mother’s last belongings. He touches her journal and her telescope, the old contraption working just fine. Around his neck sits a pendant, the stone inside said to be made from pure dragonfire. He doesn’t know if that’s true. He just knows that it’s hers.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Lance jumps, too out of wits to notice someone coming into the stables behind him. He turns his head, recognizing the little figure standing in the entryway.  
  
Lily had always loved Lance the most. He doesn’t blame her for being afraid of their father. While Lance remembers who he used to be, she has only ever known him as he is now.  
  
“I’m going on a ride.” Lance admits, “Just for a while.”  
  
Stepping further into the stables, Lily stares at Lance’s mare for only a moment before moving her attention back to her older brother. Her hair is thick and curly like their mother’s, the color dark as midnight. Her brown skin is freckled, similar to Lance’s cheeks when he stays in the sun. On her hip is a small knife, not very sharp but it has always made her feel like a warrior.  
  
“I’m coming with you.” She holds her head high, stubborn as a mule. “I know you aren’t coming back.”  
  
“Of course I am, little flower.” He finally turns and kneels before her, taking hold of her small hands. “I'm the future king, remember? I have to come back.”  
  
She plants her feet, staring at him with hard brown eyes. “Liar.”  
  
He sighs, “You can’t come, Lily. Father needs you.”  
  
“He doesn’t hate you.” She insists, “I know it. I hear him talking at night.”  
  
Lance furrows his brows, “What?”  
  
“Late at night, when I go to the kitchen for cookies. I hear him in the throne room, talking to mommy’s picture. He says he’s lost. That she has to come back. That he wishes to love us as she did.”  
  
Lance blinks away more damp tears from his eyes, wishing he could console his father. But his cheek stings something awful and his will is broken, the little boy who would crawl beside his father at night to sleep long gone; swept away by the storms of a broken family.  
  
“You can’t come.” He repeats, trying to sound harsh and final.  
  
Yet, Lily simply rolls her eyes. Regardless of the day, a shocked laugh escapes Lance’s throat.  
  
“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”  
  
She shakes her head and takes her hands from him, holding tight to the pack on her shoulders. She’s already packed a bag.  
  
“We could be killed, you know.” Lance says, returning to securing the packs on Asherah. “It’s dangerous beyond these castle grounds.”  
  
“I _know_ , Lance.” She gets on her tiptoes to latch her pack beside his.  
  
He scoffs and bends to pick her up, settling her on the saddle. She holds tight to the reigns, eyes large and full of excitement. He stares at her for a moment, knowing while he’s always been more like their mother, she’s always been the most like him.  
  
“Come on!” She huffs, “Let’s go before your cook friend finds us!”  
  
“Hunk?” Lance snickers and jumps up, making sure she’s secure before clicking his tongue for Asherah to walk. “He wouldn’t tell on us.”  
  
She hums in disbelief. Then she says, soft and quiet, “Will you miss him?”  
  
“Yes.” He answers immediately. “But i’ll see him again some day.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
Lance shrugs, “Sometimes you just know things.”  
  
She looks back at him, “Like how I know you’ll be happy again?”  
  
He blinks, shocked. “Uh.” He nods, “Sure. Like that, little flower.”  
  
Smiling, she looks ahead again. They take a secret path to the fields beyond the walls, bypassing guards and soldiers, kept hidden from towers and torches. And soon, the entire world opens up before them.

__________________________

  
“I’m hungry.” Lily says, hours and hours after they left.  
  
The Kingdom of Earita is far behind them now, the forests of the Unknown ahead. He knows this forest is huge, expansive and dark. He knows it has not been explored, rumored to be filled with beasts and savage hunters.  
  
He refuses to be afraid.  
  
“And just where are we going again?” She asks, looking at the village they pass.  
  
“The Mountains of Starlight.” He says, “Mother mapped them in her journal.”  
  
“We’ll live there?”  
  
Lance nods, “Yes.”  
  
“But it’s going to be hard to get there? It’s going to be dangerous?”  
  
“Most definitely.”  
  
She grins, “Good.”  
  
Lance shakes his head and they continue on, stopping only for a moment to drink water and eat bread. Luckily, in Lily’s pack, she gathered jerky from the kitchens. Lance chews on a peace of mint leaf they’d discovered as they start their journey again, enjoying the quiet night. The sun will rise in three short hours and he knows they’ll need to sleep soon. It’s safer that way.  
  
“Did you hear that?” Lily suddenly asks, whipping her head to the right.  
  
“Hear what?”  
  
“Listen!” She hisses, slapping his knee.  
  
He listens, tilting his head and slowing Asherah. The field outside of the small village is covered in tall grass, wheat and wildflowers. He can hardly see in the dark but soon enough, he hears it. A crunch, a hoof stepping slow behind them. Wasting no time, he urges Asherah to run.  
  
Lily holds tight and Lance warns her not to let go, “They’re thieves.” He says, “Bandits who will kill us if they catch us!”  
  
Asherah is fast but it’s hard for her to maneuver through the grass and soon enough, the bandits show themselves. They whistle and shout at their horses, yelling for Lance to stop if he doesn’t want to be struck down.  
  
But Lance is a prince. He isn’t afraid. He kisses the top of Lily’s head and tells her to keep forward, to lean against Asherah’s back in case they have arrows. The child listens, seemingly unfrightened by the turn of events. Lance thanks the heavens that she is brave.  
  
They race through the grass, Asherah’s breath loud huffs through her nose. Her hooves dig into the soil, kicking up rocks similar to the way she’d kicked up sand. Grass whips Lance in his face and he feels a small trickle of blood run down his jaw, trailing to his neck.  
  
“Faster, Asherah.” He orders, “To the forest!”  
  
The bandits gain on them but he knows his horse is faster. He knows they’ll make it; he knows they have to. But when they do, so do the bandits. He thought they would stop, that they would be frightened of the rumors surrounding these trees. Yet, they give chase, and now that they’re free of the grass a single arrow soars past Lance’s face. The rusty weapon imbeds itself into a tree, splintering the bark.  
  
“Give up!” One shouts, “Yanno’ we gotta kill ya’ now, boy!”  
  
Lance grimaces and leans forward, pushing Lily further to safety as they gain speed. They bypass trees and dips, thorns and bushes and hidden streams. The treetops are so thick that no moonlight can enter, the scatter of animals distant disruptions in the dark. Soon, however, there is a clearing. It opens up before them almost all at once and Lance curses, knowing it gives the bandits easier view of them.  
  
He has only two swords. Lily has only a knife.  
  
But he knows he can’t run through this clearing and survive. So, all he can do is fight.  
  
“Stay down.” He orders Lily, “If I fall, you run on.”  
  
She tries to argue but he hushes her, turning Asherah and jumping from the saddle. He slides his favorite sword from the satchel, feeling the smooth hilt in his palm. The blade glints clean and sharp. Moonlight greets it and he finds his balance, counting six bandits entering the clearing before him.  
  
“Give up, eh?” One shouts, holding an old sword in his own hand. “I see you have a lil’ lassie wi’ ya!”  
  
“Try to touch her and I’ll kill you!” Lance shouts.  
  
The bandits laugh. They chortle and shout obscenities, drawing closer.  
  
Lance isn’t sure that he’ll win. In fact, he’s almost positive that he’ll lose. But at least he’ll give Lily time to escape, to survive-  
  
Suddenly, the ground shakes. Wind explodes at his back and he falls to his knees, watching as the bandits draw their horses back, barely able to hang on themselves. Heat wafts across the ground, pushing the grass in waves. Lily screams behind him, the sound piercing and Lance fears that she’s lost, that something happened to his little sister despite his best efforts to save her.  
  
The bandits scream too, though they can turn and run back the way they came. One falls from his horse and Lance sees blood splay into the air, though it takes him a moment to see the shiny arrow protruding from his neck. With a choked gasp, Lance turns on the ground and pushes with his feet to gain distance between him and this newcomer.  
  
Only, he has to crane his neck up and up to see the extent of it. The beast is huge, towering above him, amber scales rippling and glowing in the moonlight. Dragonfire builds in its throat, the orange boiling like lava. Lance tries to get to his feet in a hurry, desperate to save Lily from the fire.  
  
But before he can, a new figure arrives. It steps from behind the beast’s ginormous leg, bow and arrow docked in his hand. Hooded, only his eyes glow.  
  
The figure pushes the hood away from his face, black hair spilling out, lips kept in a drawn line.  
  
And Lance, despite the danger and disbelief, is struck to his very core. He cannot move, though it isn't from fear. He cannot speak, though he wishes to. All he can do is stare and stare and when the boy finally opens his mouth to talk, all he can do is listen.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and if you'd like for this story to continue <3
> 
> Tumblr: zoeemech.tumblr.com


End file.
